Leon opened his eyes, but his body didn't move as he willed.
He was trapped.
Emotions flooded him, and they weren't his.
Happiness. Pure, radiant happiness.
He looked around.
Beside him stood two people, smiling widely, almost unnaturally so.
They seemed strange to Leon, unsettling in their intensity.
But the scientist, found them comforting, pleasing even.
The scene unfolded with warmth.
They played together, shared moments, and enjoyed simple pleasures.
Eventually, everyone went their separate ways.
Leon's "home" was small, humble, a modest shelter that felt tight but safe.
The twins' homes, on the other hand, were large, sprawling, and impressive.
But there was a problem.
Several houses, including the twins', were worn and broken.
Three of the houses were made of wood, fragile and weathered.
The twins' home had cracks, small but noticeable.
Despite his lack of control, Leon found himself moving toward their house.
He fixed the broken parts, patched the cracks, steadied the beams, repaired the worn wood.
When he was done, he quietly returned to his small home.
He still couldn't control his body, but inside, he felt something shift.
A silent understanding.
His house kept shrinking, smaller and smaller, until it felt like a cage and the other home had become bigger and bigger.
Walls pressing in.
No room to move.
He couldn't even leave.
But strangely, he didn't panic.
Then, the scene shifted.
Before him stretched a long glass bridge, delicate and gleaming under an empty sky.
At the far end, the twins stood waiting, waving with warm smiles, inviting him to come closer.
Leon took a step forward.
The glass beneath him cracked, just a tiny fracture.
He froze.
Then another crack appeared, wider this time.
The bridge trembled.
He broke into a run, heart pounding, breath sharp.
With every step, the glass splintered more.
But the twins' smiles never wavered, they were waiting for him at the other side.
Leon pushed forward, desperate to reach them before the bridge shattered beneath his feet.
Leon's breath came in sharp gasps, but he didn't know what to do next.
The twins, who had been waving at him, stopped.
Without a word, they turned and began to walk away.
No matter how fast Leon ran, the glass bridge stretched on endlessly before him.
He couldn't go back, the shattered glass behind him was gone. He couldn't undo the steps that were broken.
He was trapped on a path that only led forward.
And the twins were leaving.
Panic welled up inside him.
If they leave, does that mean I've failed?
His mind raced.
Was this a trick?
Should he go back, even though it was impossible?
Should he jump off the bridge, risking death to find a new beginning?
Like before, death in this dream meant change.
But here, nothing made sense.
He didn't know what to do.
Frustration boiled over.
Leon screamed at them, his voice raw and desperate.
"You pieces of shit! Come here! Come back!"
"You old bunch of thieves, come back right now and face me!"
But his words were swallowed by the empty air.
They didn't turn. They didn't stop.
The broken glass beneath him caught up.
His hand trembled as the fragile surface cracked beneath his fingers.
He was falling.
In a desperate reflex, he grabbed the last solid patch of glass.
His hand brushed against his pocket.
Something was there, a small wooden ball.
He clutched it tight, pulled it free, and hurled it at the fading figures.
He can hear them mocking him and laughing at him.
"Come back here, you thieves!" he screamed again.
Then, silence.
Everything vanished.
He was alone, breathing hard, heart pounding.
Did I die?
Suddenly, darkness swallowed him whole.
And then, a door appeared.
A new door.
The door to the seventh dream.
This time, Leon thought he understood the dream, at least, part of it.
Maybe the scientist, back when he was younger, wanted to stand up for himself.
To face those who hurt him and say, enough.
Even as he fell, he wanted to fight back, throw something at them to shake them up.
That was Leon's best guess about what the test meant.
But he wasn't sure.
The last two tests were more luck than skill.
Now, he felt the weight of worry pressing down on him.
What if this next one's different?
What if I'm not ready?
Before he even came here, they told him people usually have seven to ten dreams before you can truly enter their subconscious.
Only then could you understand what the scientist wanted, and maybe find a way to stop the nightmares.
So this, this dream, might be the last one.
At best.
But at worst?
There could still be three more. Four more.